Kidnapped!
by VergofTowels
Summary: AU. Kirk and the bridge crew have been kidnapped. How can a group of people who don't know each other at all still manage to kick butt so well together? No pairings. Ch. 3: The plot thickens! Who are the kidnappers, really?
1. Chapter 1

Hallo! Here's another one inspired by the kink meme. The prompt asked for an AU where Kirk and the rest of the crew did not know each other but would fall naturally into the chain of command anyway. I hope I have filled it well. ;D

Warning: I did no research for this at all. Sorry if it seems unbelievable!

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek!

* * *

Jim Kirk awoke with a splitting headache and the disgusting taste of burlap in his mouth. At least the gag was gone, though. He opened his eyes but couldn't see anything in the darkness. He listened. Somewhere off to his left he could hear quiet breathing, or at least he thought he could. Over the echoing sound of dripping water he couldn't be sure. Damn. That meant he wasn't the only one.

---

The morning had been a bright one in Iowa, golden sun streaming through the fields in a truly magnificent way. Jim had been biking to town, every now and then revving the motor to scare up the crows. He swung into town still surrounded by the angry cacophony and grinned to himself.

Parking the bike behind the store was easy enough. That early on a Saturday the lot was only half-full. He patted the seat after locking up and brushed a line of dirt off the bumper. Time for another hose-down, probably. Oh well. Plenty of time for that later on. He had nothing to do that afternoon. Now, time for work.

The store had already been opened by Mr. Larson, but Jim set about tidying the displays and making sure the cash register was working. The computer always had a hissy fit the first time it was started up. Jim just jiggled the connection until it settled and stopped freezing.

"Mornin', Jim," said Mr. Larson, coming in from the back room. He was carrying a canvas bag over one shoulder and smiled at his employee. "I've got to be off to the Rangers' farm to pick up the squash. You all right handlin' the place until I get back? Shouldn't take more'n an hour."

"No problem, sir," Jim replied, waving the friendly old man out the door. Really. He was twenty-one; he could watch a store by himself.

The morning passed slowly, with only a few customers stopping in for milk or a lottery ticket, or two. Jim kept the small talk to a minimum. It was too early to be blathering on about so-and-so's cow. He'd rather be sleeping. Or maybe watching _World's Hottest Babes_ on re-runs. Yeah, that Shirley had it going for her.

He was startled from his fantasy by the annoying sound of the bell and looked uninterestedly toward the door. He only sat up and took notice when he realized the group of men weren't anyone he knew, and that was pretty hard in a town as small as Riverside. After a few moments milling around, one of the guys – a real brute with a moustache that looked more like a rat taped to his face – approached the counter.

"Can I help you?" asked Jim, not feeling particularly helpful. This group looked like the type of jerks who bought cheap liquor and gasoline by the gallon.

"Yeah. You Jim Kirk?" Rat-Face looked like he already knew the answer. In fact, Rat-Face looked pretty darn sure.

"Uh, no," said Jim. He was no coward, you bet your ass, but he knew when he was outmatched. Five guys in leather wielding, now that he thought about it, not-so-subtle knives were definitely too much for him. Besides, if he did time for another fight, Mr. Larson would give him the boot, as promised.

"Yeah right." Rat-Face reached over the counter and grabbed a fistful of Jim's T-shirt. "I know all about your little lies. So, Jim Kirk, how much do you think Daddy loves you?"

Jim's brain started to work frantically. His _dad? _They were interested in his _dad?_ What did these guys care about George Kirk, starship captain? He gave them another once-over, trying to determine their motives from their ugly mugs. Nothing doing. They could be after money, or power… Hell, they could even be some fringe political group, albeit a badly-dressed one. His dad did have a lot of enemies.

"What do you want?" He tried to stall while looking for possible escape routes. He could probably twist away from Rat-Face, but then his only options were to break the window and bolt or run straight into the midst of the men, now fanned out in a semi-circle between the Twix and the tabloids. He might be able to take out a few of them, but would most certainly be no match against all five.

Mentally cringing, he looked down at the button on the cash register, the one you were supposed to push when you were being held up. Jim had always considered it the easy way out, to call the cops. He was much more for jumping the assailant himself. Those robbers were always high on something, anyway. It's not like it would be hard. Now this seemed like the only option…

Until he saw the register screen. It was black. Frozen.

He was so screwed.

"What do we want?" repeated Rat-Face, now showing a glint of yellowish teeth in a decidedly unfriendly manner. "At the moment: you."

Jim felt his head collide with the counter and after that felt no more.

---

He shook his head at the memory and winced at the throbbing in his temples. So yeah, not one of his better days. But enough of that. It was time to find out where he was. He sat up slowly, feeling now the tug of rope at his wrists and ankles. In his new position, he could see a dim shaft of light from a window somewhere and it illuminated his surroundings.

He was in some kind of warehouse. Judging from the damp smell of mildew and the distinct lack of boxes, he was sure it was abandoned now. Instead of holding boxes, the space had been converted into several crude cells. His was not the only one occupied.

As he had suspected, he had not been the only one taken.

To his left, he could barely make out a lean form among the shadows. The figure seemed to be sitting up, but was so still Jim couldn't be sure they were still all right. If it weren't for the breaths he kept almost-hearing, he would be certain the person was dead.

Off to the right, he could see a young, blond man curled up under a loose bit of plastic tarp, leftover from the warehouse's days of operation. A few more cells beyond him were also occupied. Jesus, how many of them were there?

It was deathly quiet.

"Hello?" Jim asked the question in barely a whisper, but it seemed to expand and fill the space. "Is anyone else awake?"

There was no answer.

"Hello?" Suddenly, the room was filled with light. Jim could hear the screeching of an old metal door being wrenched open somewhere out of his line of sight and two shadows entered the space.

"I want you to go look over the new one. No funny stuff." The voice was unfamiliar to Jim, but he was pretty sure it belonged to one of the kidnappers. He had the same kind of accent as Rat-Face.

"Yeah, yeah, I got all that. Now would ya let me work?" The second voice was pure southern drawl, and angry to boot. Jim watched as the speaker entered his view. The voice seemed to belong to a man of medium height with brown hair. A black bag was clutched in one hand. The other held a medical scanner like you saw in hospitals and places like that. Real high tech.

"Hey, kid. Name's McCoy, and I'm a doctor." The greeting was gruff and pitched low so the other man wouldn't be able to hear it. McCoy settled on his haunches before Jim's cell and held up the scanner. "I'm gonna give you an exam and make sure those bastards didn't break anything."

Jim felt like telling him that duh, if anything was broken he would feel it, but he decided to trust the doctor. In any case, he seemed more decent than anyone else he'd met during the day.

"So what's going on here?" he asked instead, also careful to keep his voice down. "Who are these guys?"

McCoy shot a glance over his shoulder and put the scanner away. "I don't know, and I ain't about to ask. Your readout looks fine, but I gotta know: you hurtin' anyplace?"

"No." His wrists were beginning to chafe, but it wasn't anything he couldn't handle. "Hey, wait, before you go…" McCoy paused. "Can you look at that guy over there? I think he's dead." Jim tossed his head over to the left, indicating the still-silent figure in the other cell.

"Nothin' wrong with _him_. He's a Vulcan." With that incomprehensible advice, McCoy stood up and walked back out of Kirk's vision. "He's all right," Jim heard him say to the kidnapper, "just a bit bruised, is all."

"Good."

The footsteps of the two men softened as they left, and with another excruciating squeak, the light vanished with them. Kirk sighed and sat back against the cold wall of his cell.

"Hello?" came a faint voice, somewhere out of the darkness.

Kirk stiffened. "Hello? Who's there?" He scrambled closer to the bars and peered out into the gloom.

"I am Chekov. Pavel Andreievich Chekov." The young man under the tarp had sat up and was now warily looking in Kirk's direction. "Who are you?"

"I'm James Tiberius Kirk. Do you know what's going on?" His eyes having adjusted to the light, Jim could now see that Chekov's clothes were dirty and rather worn. He had been here for a while.

"_Nyet_." He looked down at the ground, defeated. "I beliewe it has something to do vith my father."

"How old are you?" Kirk asked, to keep him talking. Another father? This was beginning to look big. Bigger than him.

"Fourteen."

"Damn."

"That pretty much describes the situation," said another voice, farther down the line. This one was female, and sounded way more annoyed than pitiful.

"And you are?"

"Nyota Uhura. And _I_ know why _I'm_ here."

"Oh?" Jim wondered if she was hot. He couldn't help it! Her voice had a smooth, charming quality to it. Definitely one who was used to speaking, possibly public speaking.

"My dad is into diamonds. Buying, selling… stealing. Monetary motive, almost guaranteed."

"Huh. Hey Pavel, what does your dad do?"

"He makes wiolins."

"That doesn't sound like-"

"For wery important people. Actually, his last project sold at tventy thousand credits."

"Jesus." Jim shook his head. So here he was, in a room full of rich kids, obviously being counted among them for some kind of kidnapping scheme. "So these guys want money. That seems fairly plain. But are we going to let them do this? Hold us for ransom? I don't think so."

"It isn't any use trying to escape," said a new voice from the corner. From the tightness of the tone, Kirk guessed that the speaker was in pain.

"Hikaru! Are you feeling better?" Chekov had swiveled around so fast that Kirk was afraid the kid would lose his balance, but he just pressed himself up against the bars.

"A little. Listen, Kirk," said the voice, "I've already tried to get out. You'll get nothing that way except a broken face." The pale impression of an Asian boy took shape from the murky atmosphere some distance down the other wall. His face, Kirk could tell, even from this distance, was bruised rather badly.

"We just need to try harder," Jim said stubbornly.

"Illogical," said a voice to his left. Jim realized the voice, speaking for the first time now, belonged to the Vulcan. So he wasn't dead. "As I have already explained to present company, a frontal assault will only result in further physical abuse, not freedom."

"Hikaru vas being brave!" protested Chekov, looking, as far as Kirk could tell, put-out.

"He was being ignorant. Fencing with a broken bar was an eminently human, and thus, illogical, thing to do."

"All right, all right," grumbled Kirk, halting the argument before it could begin. "This isn't going to get anything done. We need to work together if we're going to get out." He grimaced. "First things first: introductions. I need to know who my friends are."

The others seemed to fall in line under his orders, reacting, maybe, to the verve in his voice, or the determination in his face.

"Hikaru Sulu. I'm seventeen. My dad is a computer manufacturer in Japan."

"Nyota Uhura, nineteen. My father owns a diamond mine in Africa."

"Pavel A. Chekov. I am fourteen and my father makes wiolins. Vell, all kinds of instruments, really."

"Great. I'm Jim Kirk, twenty-one. My dad captains a starship." He turned to his left. "Your turn."

"I am Spock. I am twenty-four Terran years old. And my father is a diplomat for the Vulcan Embassy."

"All right," said Kirk. "We need a plan."

* * *

I have too much fun with Chekov's accent. *shoots self* Reviews are love!


	2. Chapter 2

Okay, we're back with Ch. 2! :D Things actually happen in this chapter... sort of.

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek!

* * *

Making a plan was harder than he thought it would be. Once he managed to call the group to some order, the warehouse door opened again and three of the kidnappers entered, interrupting their impromptu meeting.

"Play time," snarled a man in a beat-up black fedora. "Who's first?" Understandably, no one raised their hand.

"What's going on?" Jim whispered to Spock, his closest fellow captive. The Vulcan still hadn't moved and made no indication that he had heard. However…

"They intend to take us outside in pairs for the purpose of exercise. This usually involves a lap or two around the warehouse." His voice was soft enough that Jim had to lean closer to hear him.

"I see. How many goons come with us?"

"I would surmise that since two are present… two."

"Quit yer whispering," snapped the man in the hat. "You two have just volunteered." Using a rough iron key, quite old fashioned, really, he unlocked their cells. "Up 'n' at 'em." He hauled Kirk to his feet none too gently. Jim could feel the muzzle of a gun of some kind pressing into his back.

"C'mon, freak," said the other man, a real hefty sucker with a beard. Spock was subjected to the same treatment. As the Vulcan stumbled out of his cell, Kirk could see why he'd been so still: his arms and ankles were bound with heavy chain.

"What the hell!" said Kirk, but he received no explanation from either Spock or his captors as they were both dragged outside into the wintry day. It was quite cold outside the warehouse and Jim took a moment to adjust, examining his surroundings in the meantime.

The warehouse they had emerged from was only one in a complex of identical gray buildings set against a backdrop of mountains. _Mountains?_ They clearly were not in Iowa any more. How long had he been unconscious? Snow capped the nearest peaks but so far had not crept into the valley. Jim supposed it was a blessing, considering he was still dressed for autumn on the farm.

"Lyle, let's get moving," grunted Spock's guard, pulling his prisoner along with a firm grip on his arm. Lyle – the one in the hat – nodded and yanked Kirk along as he strode off to the right. The rope around Jim's ankles was only loose enough to permit him shallow steps. Between the brutal pace and the loss of balance incurred by his bound arms, he was having a lot of difficulty keeping up.

That turned out to be okay. With all of his awkward flailing, he forced the kidnappers to keep stopping to wait for him. Mindful of the phaser trained on him, Kirk did not seek an escape route. Instead, he examined Spock, glad to get the opportunity. He had never seen a Vulcan before, but he'd read about them in school. First Contact was hit on from kindergarten to high school, and was often a major section of World History, Astronomy, and Physics.

Spock seemed to fit his expectations. He was tall and lean with a cap of shiny black hair, growing somewhat too long in the absence of regular care. His ears were, of course, pointed. His sharp eyebrows were drawn down now as he shuffled along, possibly in anger, though there were no other clues in his face. Jim had no problem vocalizing his discomfort, though Spock trudged in silence.

Their 'exercise' did not afford a very good tactical look at the camp. Nowhere could he see a base, or even an office. Nothing that might give him an idea of where the kidnappers spent their free time making ransom calls. Or whatever. This was extremely disheartening, because the only other details he knew were that they were in a storage camp somewhere in unfamiliar territory. He sighed.

"Oi!"

Jim drew himself up and peered ahead of him, wondering what the sudden commotion was about.

Behind the beefy guy, Jim could see that Spock had tripped over his chains and had fallen to his knees. Jim hadn't noticed before but the Vulcan was shivering rather badly, his lips and ears tinged rust-colored in the cold. Lyle swore under his breath.

"Pick him up, Spike." Spike – what the hell – dragged Spock unceremoniously to his feet, oblivious to or uncaring of his difficulties. Spock remained silent and did not fall again.

---

Back in the cells, Kirk waited until Chekov and Uhura had been taken outside to speak. "Spock." He thought he saw a slight inclination of the Vulcan's head in the darkness. "Are you okay?"

"I do not require your pity."

Kirk narrowed his eyes. "I'm not _pitying_ you, I'm caring about your general well-being."

"…I am fine."

"Well, good. Wanna do a trade?" Kirk was maneuvering himself over to the barred wall separating their cells.

"What kind of trade?" Spock seemed curious, but wary.

"If you untie my hands, I'll give you my jacket."

Spock said nothing for a moment, then he seemed to choose the logical course. "Very well. Give me your hands." His long fingers found Kirk's wrists and set to work on the rope. In a minute or so, Kirk felt the coils loosen and drop away.

"Great." He pulled his arms away, wincing as his stiff muscles shrieked in protest. He gave his wrists a good rub, even though it did nothing for the chafing, and because you had to. It was a rule that if your wrists were tied, you had to rub them afterward. Stretching, he pulled off his leather jacket and shoved it through the bars behind him, draping it awkwardly on Spock. "Sorry, but I don't think there's anything I can do about those chains. Unless you happen to have a communicator or something I could take apart?"

"I do not." Spock paused. "But thank you."

"No problem." Jim quickly set to work on his ankle binding, which was a piece of cake to remove. Then he turned toward Sulu. The boy seemed to be paying pretty close attention. Jim guessed that he was eager to escape again. Speaking of which… "Hey Hikaru. You got out, right? How far did you get?"

He sighed. "Not very. I managed to get past the warehouses, but I didn't really see a road or anything." He had propped himself up against the wall, but didn't look at all comfortable.

"Yeah. I couldn't see one either." Kirk chewed on his knuckle, thinking. "Did you happen to see a… what, a base or something like that? Wherever the kidnappers are staying?"

Sulu sat up. "Actually, I did see a lodge up further on the mountain. It looked a little decrepit, but there was definitely smoke rising from the chimney."

"Where?" The gears in Kirk's head were whirling, putting together a map of the complex in his mind.

"North-northwest, maybe half a mile. If you can get past the buildings, it's impossible to miss." Some spirit was returning to Sulu's voice. Good.

"We need to get over there. I'm sure they have a car we could, heh, borrow. Then we'll be out of here like-"

"Quiet." The warning left Spock's mouth just before the door reopened. Kirk curled up, pretending hastily that his bonds were still in place while Lyle locked up Uhura and Chekov again.

"You don't get any," he growled to Sulu, like it was a punishment. "Not since you buggered."

Sulu, wisely, said nothing.

Lyle and Spike left the room, bitching to each other in some language Kirk couldn't identify. This time when the door shut, Kirk could here a bolt sliding home.

"No dinner?" he asked, half-serious.

"They're running out of supplies. Apparently, our parents are being uncooperative." Uhura looked faintly worried about that, wondering, no doubt, as they all were what would happen if the payments weren't made.

"How do you know that?" Kirk asked.

"She iz awesome," piped up Chekov. "Ven ve vere outside, zey vere speaking some crazy language, but she figured it out like it vas nothing!" Uhura blushed.

"It wasn't that hard. It's some sort of creole, a mixture of Middle Eastern and Slavic dialects."

"Impressive," said Jim, looking at her with new eyes.

"Thanks."

"Right then, you'll be in charge of translation. We're going to need someone with your talents if we're going to get out of here."

"Oh! Ve are still escaping, zen?" Chekov asked brightly. Jim laughed.

"Yep."

"Oh good. Zen ve ken use the road on the south side of camp to driwe avay."

Everyone stared at him.

"How do you know that?"

"Vat? Oh. Zis camp is similar in structure to a lumber camp I hawe wisited in Russia. Zere are usually about fifteen or tventy varehouses and an overseer cabin. Road access vas closest to truck loading area. South."

"Logical," said Spock, breaking the silence.

"Yeah, cool," said Jim. "All right then. Now all we need to know are patrol patterns. Since no one's killed us yet, I figure they don't have a camera in here. And finding food would be a good idea. And maybe a car." He sighed. "This would be so much easier if we had someone on the inside."

"What about the doctor?" asked Sulu. "He's not here of his free will either. I heard him muttering about it when he was fixing me up."

"Perfect," murmured Kirk, nodding to himself. "Yeah, that'd do it." He nodded once more, then clapped his hands together. "All right. Who here knows how to fight?"

* * *

Chapter three may take a little bit longer, but it's mostly written. Reviews make me happy!


	3. Chapter 3

Here we go! Man is this story getting long. XD Well, compared to everything else I've written.

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek!

* * *

"You do it."

"Very well. However, I must point out that Vulcans do not lie, and therefore-"

"You're not going to lie! You _are_ cold, and maybe you _do_ have hypothermia."

"…Very well."

Kirk stopped speaking with Spock and settled down to wait for breakfast. It didn't take long for the door to squeal open and two guys to walk in. Kirk recognized Lyle and Spike. He guessed they were in charge of prisoner upkeep.

Lyle was carrying a bucket and as he walked around the room, he was throwing bread out of it and into each cell. Spike was dispensing cups of water, though it hardly looked drinkable. Kirk kept still, didn't make a fuss. The last thing he needed was to draw attention to himself. It had snowed recently, so there hadn't been any 'exercise' for several days. Kirk was grateful. They hadn't discovered his loose hands yet.

So he just sat back and waited like a good boy for his escape plan to kick off its bright beginning.

The kidnappers were almost at the door before Spock spoke up. "Excuse me." The Vulcan said it quite calmly, and that, perhaps, caused the men to turn. "I believe I am in need of medical assistance."

"…What's wrong with you?" Lyle took a step closer, but Spike remained where he was, glaring dully at the cell.

"My extremities are beginning to alter in hue and my shivering has significantly slowed since yesterday. It seems likely that hypothermia is setting or could set in." He paused, then clarified for his blinking audience. "My fingers are, quite literally, freezing off."

"Damn it. Spike, fetch the doctor."

"I don't know where he is."

"_God _damn it." Lyle snapped something in a strange tongue and walked toward the door. "I'll get him. You stay here"

"I believe your plan is having the desired effect," murmured Spock once the man had gone. He sounded mildly impressed.

"Well, we'll have to see." But Kirk couldn't help but grin to himself.

---

"I _told_ you you needed to give him a blanket," snarled the angry voice of McCoy, doctor. The man was striding hurriedly into the room with an irate, but slightly abashed, Lyle on his heels. "Their core temperature is a lot higher than ours. I don't know what the hell you thought you were doing." McCoy shook his head disgustedly and marched over to Spock's cell. When Lyle made to follow, the doctor whirled on him. "You get back and let me work. And would it kill ya to get a damn light in here?"

"I can get you a flashlight," muttered the man, exiting the room again.

"Scoot over here," growled the doctor, gesturing Spock closer to the door. He pulled out a key and let himself in, the better to examine the Vulcan. "You say you've got frostbite? Damn it to hell."

"Hey," said Kirk, sliding over. "McCoy."

"What? I'm tryin' to work." The doctor had unlocked the chain around Spock's wrists and was examining the affected digits with a critical eye. He raised an eyebrow when he noticed the leather jacket draped on Spock's shoulders.

"Look, we don't have a lot of time. I need to know if I can trust you." Kirk had wrapped his hands around the dividing bars and was now regarding the doctor with an intense, searching gaze.

"What are you tryin' to pull?" asked the man, not looking up from where he was putting some sort of salve on Spock's hands. "Another escape? You saw how the last one turned out. That Asian kid was beat pretty badly; I had to fix two broken bones."

"Yeah, but what if we have you on our side?" asked Kirk, crossing his fingers. "And a car? Hmm?" He smiled disarmingly until the doctor finally looked at him. "Come on. We can take them. How many are there?"

"Seven," muttered McCoy. They were running out of time until Lyle returned with the flashlight. "I'm not a fighter, kid. I'm just an old country doctor."

"Come back tonight with a key," said Kirk, hoping he didn't sound like he was begging.

"Your assistance would be most helpful," put in Spock, and Kirk was inexplicably glad for the support. The doctor hesitated slightly, then sat back on his haunches.

"No promises." He stood up, brushed off his hands and closed the cell door behind him when he heard the warehouse door opening again. "You wasted your time; I'm done," he growled to Lyle. "He's all set, no thanks to you. You'd better put in a tarp or something."

After a suitable tarp had been found and bundled into Spock's cell, the men left, still snapping at each other. Spock gathered the cloth around himself and examined his newly-freed wrists.

"I believe that he will come."

"So do I," said Kirk, to soft cheers from the rest of the captives. He picked up his roll and took a bite from it. "So do I."

---

It wasn't quite midnight when he heard the rattle of metal on metal. Pale light crept into the room and slid liquidly across the floor. A dark figure stepped inside. Kirk shifted uncomfortably in the cold air.

Kirk was not sleeping. He doubted anyone was. Instead, he was sitting up, hands folded behind his head, waiting. He was pretty sure his wait was over. "Hello?" he called quietly, hoping against hope.

"Keep it down," grumbled a familiar voice. A footstep alerted Kirk to the man's presence outside his cell. "You realize this ain't going to be a damn picnic, don't you?" McCoy winced as the iron key scraped against the cell's lock, but he got the door open. "So far I guess your parents have been stallin', but that ain't gonna last for long. If they catch you, they might start cuttin' parts off. And I won't be around to help you again."

"Yeah, I got it. Thanks." Kirk climbed out of the cell and helped to untie the hostages as McCoy opened their cells. Soon they were all together, a motley group in the almost imperceptible light.

"All right," whispered Kirk. "Here's what's going to happen. Spock and I will take point. I figure I'm pretty good at fighting and Spock's strong as hell. McCoy, you are going to get us to a vehicle. Or two. Once he's done that. Sulu, you and Chekov are going to get us from here to civilization as fast as possible. Uhura, you listen for bad guys. I figure once they find out we're gone, they'll be spread out looking for us. Your job is to keep me informed as to where they're going. Got it?" His crew nodded, caught between excitement and fear. McCoy crossed his arms.

"You realize you're crazy, right?"

"Pretty much, yeah. Any questions? Good. Let's go."

---

The air outside was like a knife through Kirk's improvised tarp-cloak, but that didn't discourage him. They were on the move, finally. He could get out of this godforsaken hell hole. Slowly, a grin crept onto his face, exhilaration warmed him. This was going to be fun.

"Jim, we are approaching the main thoroughfare of the camp," murmured Spock beside him. The Vulcan was dressed in donations from the rest of the crew and had even obtained a pair of gloves from McCoy. He was carrying a length of chain for a weapon, though had earlier expressed his reluctance to use it.

"Good. We have to go… north-northwest, half a mile. Right, Sulu?"

"Right," he answered, following Kirk closely. McCoy had given him a hypospray for any residual pain, and an excited gleam filled his eyes. "We should be able to see the chimney smoke."

"Zere it is!" whispered Chekov, pointing out a thin grey line that was visible against the dark cloud cover.

"You said they have a landrover, Bones?" Kirk had pulled the nickname from thin air, but it seemed to fit the doctor well. It was fatalistic enough.

"Yeah, parked up on the far side of the lodge." He checked around the corner of a warehouse and gestured for the group to move forward. "We'd better hurry. Soon as they see our trail, they'll be on us."

"Right." The crew fell silent as they made their way farther up the hill. The moon was thankfully hidden, and that cut down a lot on their chances of being seen, but they still felt nervous when they left the complex of buildings to cross the open snow. Kirk could feel Spock stiffen beside him and goosebumps ran down his arms as they left the only cover they had. From now on, their wits would carry them.

What were they _doing_ out here, anyway? The more he thought about it, the less sense it made. So the kidnappers had managed to grab five rich kids, but as far as Kirk could tell, they hadn't managed to secure ransom or demands. Chekov had been here for almost a month, and yet there hadn't been a peep from his parents. And what was Bones doing there? Kirk had managed to get a small explanation: the kidnappers had a man on his young daughter. But _why?_ It didn't make any _sense._

_What were they doing?_

They were getting close to the lodge now. Kirk couldn't believe their good luck; they hadn't encountered a single patrol yet. Admittedly, it was freakin' cold out, but… It was a little suspicious. Kirk motioned for the group to stop, and he took Uhura's arm, pulling her with him as he silently approached the cabin.

There was a light on inside, and a square of yellow brilliance illuminated the snow under the window. Kirk avoided it and slipped up against the wall. From this close, he and Uhura could hear muffled voices.

"Can you hear what they're saying?" He mouthed the words, but he could see in her face that she understood him.

"I can try…" She cocked her head and started concentrating, trying to focus in on the syllables, the tone, the cadence. The wind blew a little colder.

Kirk couldn't shake the feeling now that something was very, very wrong.

---

Lyle crossed the room in short, angry strides and just stopped himself from fisting his hand in the alien's shirt. "We have been waiting and waiting," he growled, spit flying to land on the other man's pale face. "Where is he? Where is _our money?_"

"Enough," snapped his boss, absently patting down the tangled moustache that cloaked his upper lip. "Lyle, enough. I will handle this." He stood from where he'd been reclining by the fireplace. "We have Kirk, now. I got him myself." He stepped forward. "We have been tolerant. But even my patience is growing thin."

"Now, now. Jordan, relax," said their pallid guest, adjusting the fur-lined collar of his parka. The tattoos on his face seemed to writhe eerily in the firelight. "He is buying a ship."

"Buying a ship," said Jordan, drawing out the phrase unpleasantly. The alien didn't flinch as he bared teeth filed for intimidation.

"Yes."

"He should have done that months ago!" The other kidnappers, gathered around the walls, murmured in agreement. None of them had thought to check on the prisoners. Not when their cash hung in jeopardy. "Listen, freak. The Black Tongues do not take orders from liars." He ended the word in a hiss of displeasure.

"My captain is not a liar. You will have your money. Ready the prisoners for transport by the end of the week, and we will come for them." It was his turn to threaten now, and he drew a wickedly curved blade from a back-mounted sheath. "Or you will all lose your livelihoods. And your lives as well."

Jordan stepped away, sweating despite the chill. He shifted uneasily until the man put the blade away.

"Do you understand me?" The alien looked around the cabin, making sure that each man shivering within had full sense of his meaning.

"Of course... Ayel."

* * *

Gasp! ;D Thanks to gowvan for the idea of Romulan involvement. Initially, this story wasn't supposed to get beyond Kirk and Co.'s epic escape, but goddammit if I haven't got a whole conspiracy planned. On that note: suggestions are welcome! I can't guarantee they'll all be used, but the next few chapters are an amorphous mass of possibilities.

Next chapter, we'll hopefully meet the parents and find out what they've been doing this whole time. And maybe some backstory, too? :D Reviews are much appreciated!


	4. Author's Note

Sorry about the long delay, folks, but I've come to a bit of a bump in my plan. My original idea for this story, as I think I've mentioned before, was a one- or twoshot which ended when Kirk and friends escaped from their captors and on to better things. There wasn't a lot of backstory or anything, and it was supposed to be short.

As you can see, that kind of didn't happen.

However, the plan I made for _Kidnapped!_ when I started to actually form the plot no longer works in my head. This doesn't mean the story is ending unfinished, because I have a _new_ plan, which is much better. :D I just need some time to formulate and write down the new direction this thing is going in, so it may be a little while before I update.

For those who care, the next chapter will probably (don't hold me to this!) include: Scotty! Parents! (You may not be meeting _everyone_'s parents, but Kirk and Spock's definitely.) Space travel!

Bones's daughter Joanna may make a cameo. And we'll find out why Nero wants this eclectic group of youngsters.

So until then, take care! And read my other fics.

…Who said that? .

-Verg :3


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